Chapter Text
Honestly, Draco had little to no recollection of how his godfather had gotten him into this shop but he may as well go along with this farce. It would do his godfather good to owe him; he’d gotten far too used to lording things over Draco and his father. Somehow, he’d never been able to pin anything on Narcissa, but she’d never discouraged his blackmailing of her husband and son.
Anyway. Back to the present issue: purchasing some sort of ‘abomination of Potions nature’ for his godfather’s Christmas present. He’d been complaining about them for ages.
“Welcome to Zonko’s! Can I help you find anything in particular?” An abysmally cheerful young man appearing to be Draco’s own age was situated behind the counter. He waved and smiled pleasantly; Draco immediately set himself to despising this person. Draco was above such pleasantries as waving .
“I am here to acquire your newest cleaning apparatus,” he said, careful to drone boredly. The young man didn’t appear to be suitably impressed. Draco scowled.
“Ah, the Scrubbing Bubbles?” Asked the young man, whose name-tag read: Harry Potter, Pleasure to mak-, and then there was an unintelligible scribble, as though something had sat on his quill as he wrote. “Those are actually of my own invention, so it’s for the best that I show you to them! Right this way,” he gestured towards a doorway covered by a beaded curtain. Draco eyed it with distaste, not making a move towards the obvious trap.
“They’re part of our Housewives Collection,” the man said, eyes twinkling mischievously.
Draco snorted mentally, picturing his godfather wearing an apron and wielding one of his family’s house elves’ dusters.
Past the charming curtain was a small, orderly room. On one way there was a rack of what appeared to be cleaning solutions, on another there were cages full of what appeared to be puffskeins made of feathers instead of fur. A sign above them read: Dustskeins, Cousins of the Puffskeins!
The wall Potter was directing him to held rows of glass jars and bottles. Inside each was something bubbling and gelatinous, with eyes peering at him from within. There appeared to be four colors to choose from: a sky-ish blue, a green the exact shade of Potter’s eyes, and yellow the color of watery urine, and a pink-orange that resembled an early sunset. He let his lip wrinkle with distaste.
“There are various kinds,” said his guide, slipping dutifully into salesman mode and acquiring the polite, excitable drone of a man who was truly happy with what he was selling. “The blues are the more companionable cleaners, sort of like puppies except for the purring. I’ve actually got one of my own named Kitten; she enjoys exotic dust and some types of slime, which” he waved an arm to the final wall of the small room, packed with vials and beakers of various substances “we actually sell here. The greens are the cleaners you don’t want seen, sort of like house elves. They stay out of sight as much as possible, but are known to climb aboard your shoes when you enter the house to keep them shiny. The yellows are the guards: they’ll patrol the border and detain or chase off any intruders, unless you order them otherwise. We, Zonko’s, receive an automatic alert when they discover anything worrisome and give you a call immediately; however, due to the laws in place at this time, we are also obligated to inform the authorities of any threat to a citizen’s home. The yellows also cheerfully eat any and all pests that may be afflicting your home, such as rodents, insects, or even spiders. They won’t stop until they’ve gotten them all.” He paused for breath, then continued. “The pink-oranges are usually sold to parents who’ve just sent their last child out of the house and need something to take care of. The pinker they are, the happier; the oranger, the sadder. They also follow their designated caretakers around, and can take the form of any animal of your choice while outside your residence so long as they know what the animal looks like. All of our breeds require water weekly at the most to survive, or they’ll fall apart.”
“Which of your...breeds, is safe around Potions ingredients?” Draco inquired, though he was sorely tempted to just buy the pink-orange one and watch Severus’ face when he saw it.
“All of them can handle all but the most corrosive of ingredients, including basilisk venom, fiendfyre, and unicorn tears.” Potter answered promptly.
Draco deliberated for a moment. A wicked grin spread across his face.
“I’ll take one of each,” he said, imagining his godfather having to feed and pet a bubbling pile of cleaning solution to keep it healthy.
Potter grinned back. “Of course, sir. I’ll get that for you right away.”